


spelling lessons

by uptownskunk



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Spelling & Grammar, Based On Real In-Game Events, Canon-Typical Murder, Crack, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 11:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptownskunk/pseuds/uptownskunk
Summary: Horses are hung.Jesters are hanged.The serial killer cares about the difference.





	spelling lessons

It’s a cold night, too cold for the skimpy little dress the escort is wearing even if it wasn’t already soaked through with her blood. You don’t know which it is that’s making her body wrack with shivers like that – the cold or the blood loss – and you don’t really care.

You don’t feel guilty about this.

_She_ visited  _you_ . You were going to let it go, let her live  for a few more nights while you rooted out the jailer . What’s happening right now isn’t your fault,  _she_ decided to speed up your time table, and so her death? It’s all on her. 

You’re not mad about the change in plans, can’t be. Not when you’ve been wanting to off her since day one, ever since – 

“I gotta ask, do you really care all that much about the jester’s dick?” you say, gesturing at her with your bloody knife. 

She looks confused, blinks at him blearily, her mouth moving like the mouth of a flopping fish that’s spent too long on dry land as she struggles to make words. Maybe her confusion is at the question or maybe just in general – hell, losing as much blood as there is pooling under her always makes them a little dumber, doesn’t it?

You decide to clarify. She’s gonna die soon enough anyway, one more townie gone and you another step closer to eradicating them entirely. 

You’re winning. 

You can afford to be nice.

“The first day at the town meeting, you said ‘let the jester be hung if he wants to be’,” you explain. “I guess caring about dick is just an occupational hazard for you, but hey, I’m not one to judge, right?”

You laugh at your own words but it turns to a sigh when none of the confusion in her glassy eyes goes away. Her face looks all blank now, skin pale and features unmoving, and you decide you may as well call it a night. 

It’s no fun playing with a toy that can’t play back, after all.

“For the record,” you tell the corpse as you step over it on the way to wash your knife off in the sink. “ _Horses_ are hung, jesters are _hanged_. Seems like the kind of thing a girl living in a town like this oughta know, you know? Fun fact to break out at the morning execution, not that you’ll be going to any more of those, I guess.”

You finish cleaning your knife and put it back in its place in the knife block on your counter before making quick work of hefting the escort’s body over your shoulder and out of your house under the cover of night-fall. 

You dump her off  in a heap  on the sidewalk  in front of her own home and walk away from her without looking back, whistling softly into the night air with a spring in your step.

A serial killer’s work can only be put on pause, but it’s never done.


End file.
